


anyone can love for a season

by kenmaniacc



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Kuroken Xmas Exchange, M/M, Med Student Kuroo Tetsurou, Mentions of terminal illness, Slow Burn, YAKUZA KENMA SUPREMACY, delivery boy kuroo tetsurou, how is this not a tag yet, yakuza kenma, yes you read right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenmaniacc/pseuds/kenmaniacc
Summary: “You are stubborn.” Comes his voice, raspy and low with disuse and not for the first time Kuroo wonders for how many hours the man has been playing the game like that.But for all that he complains, Kozume is already sitting, legs dangling off the engawa, smoothing out his white crumpled shirt before extending his arms for the food.“Well, it’s one of my best qualities, Kozume-san. Persistency.”
Relationships: Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 7
Kudos: 69
Collections: Kuroken Christmas Exchange 2020





	anyone can love for a season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This fic is a gif for Cruria, who is my 1010 Kuroken Christmas Exchange giftee!! I hope this lives up to your expectations and that you will enjoy it. My biggest thank you to isabella, esther, mons and celeste, who read this for me and made sure this enormous brain fart wasn't so absurd! 
> 
> A big thank you to the moderators of this lovely event for putting it all together! Y'all are gems and we are all very lucky to have you around!
> 
> ENJOY IT!!

**SUMMER**

  
  
  


Hues of lilac dot the sky, a flourish made with the brushstroke by the hands of the universe's most talented painter in the middle of an orange and red sea while dusk approaches. As the cicadas sing, Kuroo feels like he is the main character in a Murakami book, although he wouldn’t consider himself interesting enough. Maybe he is the best friend of someone in the novel, a story ready to unfold, with more hopeful tones than the author normally goes for — or so he’d like to believe.

In a way he does.

It’s hard not to, as the tiredness of his aching bones and mind is dutifully put aside whilst he cruises Hachioji with a motorcycle, the roar of the engines underneath his body making his entire being vibrate — they are alive, him and the machine, as one. 

Would be more poetic and less stupid if it wasn’t for the fact that he is also doing deliveries while he is at it.

One can’t have it all always, Kuroo considers, but things like this are also well enough. He is, after all, on his way to his favorite destination.

Slowly but surely he gets closer and closer to the feet of Takaosan. The mountain extends itself in front of him, underneath him, and he conquers it without a trace of rush, even diminishing the speed in which he travels in favor of enjoying the colder breeze that glides against his skin, shirt no longer clinging to his body with sweat.

It doesn’t feel like Tokyo, he thinks as he looks up, the canopy of the trees that grow thicker and thicker creating his path. The houses and Hachioji itself seem to vanish behind for a bit, but he knows there is a life where he is going too.

Life and golden eyes. 

The thought makes him swallow thickly, teeth sinking gently against his bottom lips on a sign of anxiety that he doesn’t care to hide as there are no witnesses to his foolishness. Because you see, it’s foolish, and Kuroo knows.

He knows as he finally parks at the back of a house, hidden amongst trees in an equally hidden road. He knows especially as he climbs down, trying to move silently and as careful as a cat as he crosses through the trees.

He thinks he looks more like an idiot than the animal since he could simply be delivering the goods at the front door.

Kuroo doesn't have an excuse for himself, but as he stands to open the back gate of the traditional Japanese style house, it feels worth it as he can finally see _that._

What is _that?_

It’s the laziness with which the lean figure sprawled out at the engawa that gives access to the backyard holds a PSP of all things, head almost hanging off the edge in a position that cannot be comfortable or easy on the neck. black silk hair cascades messily down, the blonde tips reflect the light of the lamps at the Japanese garden as it sways gently as it’s owner moves and turns around to stare directly at him. 

Kuroo sways with it, knees a second away from giving out and suddenly it’s like he is back to two months ago, coming here for the first time, seeing him for the first time, alone and surrounded by a gloomy aura that reached those golden hues that now don’t diverge from him or seem as weary as they used to be.

His recovery is quick only because seeing Kozume-san’s little button nose scrunch up at him in distaste gives him life. 

“You are stubborn.” Comes his voice, raspy and low with disuse and not for the first time Kuroo wonders for how many hours the man has been playing the game like that.

But for all that he complains, Kozume is already sitting, legs dangling off the engawa, smoothing out his white crumpled shirt before extending his arms for the food. 

“Well, it’s one of my best qualities, Kozume-san. Persistency.” He says, approaching and taking off his stupid hat. 

Obviously, his hair is a mess, and he regrets it almost immediately, not for the little tug at the corners of the other man’s mouth as he blatantly stares at the bird’s nest over his head. It makes his next answer sound a little bit more amused than it would normally be. 

“Those are not the same thing, Kuroo.” he informs, eyebrow raising in a challenge, taking the money out of his pocket and handing it to the raven as he grabs his package, calling him predictable with a single look as if he had already been expecting the delivery man to come through the back door again.

This time, Kuroo’s cheeks have the decency to warm up a bit, and he chuckles in embarrassment, pocketing the amount without even checking. Doing something like doubting the man in front of him seems like the worst mistake he could ever do. 

Without preamble then he sits, right beside him, reclaiming a position he didn’t own as much as he simply took for himself. But different than the first time, and the second, and the tenth, now Kozume-san barely bats an eyelash at him. He let’s Kuroo sit, and something warm untangles at his chest and stings at his eyes. 

Just sometimes, when they are like this, he doesn’t feel so out of place. It makes a smile tug on his lips and lace at his voice as speaks, lunging a bit to eye at Kozume’s food. 

“Oho? Looks like someone picked some vegetables today? I am impressed. Did your assistant order it wrong?” 

“Shut it, nobody asked you.” Kozume, however, didn’t seem impressed at all. If anything he seemed annoyed, poking at the broccoli with his hashi before taking a tiny piece with the chicken and bringing it to his mouth. 

Kuroo watched the whole thing as if he is a science nerd entertained by an animal documentary.

Which, not far from reality. 

He couldn’t avoid feeling partially responsible for the dish chosen, as he so dutifully complained at the lack of balance that Kozume’s usual orders sported. He is certain that the man thought him to be the single most annoying delivery man on the surface of the earth, but yet, he heard him.

He has ordered yakisoba this time, and although not the healthiest, it was an improvement for sure. 

Kozume chews, Kuroo keeps staring until those golden eyes are meeting his molten caramel ones. He hadn’t noticed before, but they are kinda close and it doesn’t seem like the blonde plans to move. He is just there, still chewing and staring right back, his arm almost touching Kuroo’s chest, who gulps. 

As amusement crosses his sharp eyes the raven thinks that maybe he was the animal being observed here. 

He needs to say something.

“D-Did you know that broccoli is a cruciferous vegetable? It’s filled with isothiocyanates like sulforaphane and indole-3-carbinol. They help detoxify enzymes and are very rich antioxidants so you are actually preventing cancer and helping your digestive system to stay in check by eating it.” If felt like there were no words in his stupid vast vocabulary capable of making Kozume looking at him like he had grown three heads. 

He is sweating. 

But then, as Kuroo opens his mouth again, Kozume’s head turns to the side opposite to him and the tiniest chuckle in the world hits Kuroo like a bullet train. A lesser man would crumble, he merely inhales and debates internally if it is too weird to wish to bottle a sound. 

A second after however, Kozume’s face is impassive again as he guides more food to his tiny parted lips. He speaks with his mouth full, nonchalant as ever.

“Sometimes I forget how big of a nerd you are, med student,” he mutters, but with newfound bravery, Kuroo is not letting that one go that easily.

“And you like me, still.” He adds. If anyone asks, it’s summer fever.

Kenma scrunches his nose, hooking a new piece of the tiny green tree and fixing his attention on it as if it cursed three generations of his family. “Debatable.”

“You do.” Kuroo insists, exhilarated with the continuous scrunch of his button nose, which worsens as he looks at Kuroo again. “You do, you do.”

“Do not.” 

“Do too.”

“Do not.” Kozume says again, and for good measure, pokes with his hashi at Kuroo’s stomach, who tries to buckle away, laughing a bit and pressing his hand at the attacked spot to soothe the sting. It’s worth it.

“Don’t you have to go to work or something?” Kozume asks, annoyed, hand still in the air and ready for another blow.

“You were my last delivery.” He informs dutifully with a smirk of piercing cockiness and making the frown of Kozume’s face deepen. Maybe, he thinks, it’s enough for today. He does have to study. “But… I do gotta go. Exams week is coming to kick my ass. No amount of watermelon might be capable to keep my brain from melting.”

“Oh.” Kuroo thinks he sees something akin to disappointment dot Kozume’s stare but could be just wishful thinking. “Are you gonna work next week?” Now he is not eating, or looking at him, just passing the food from one side to the other of his container.

Not for the first time, he wonders how Kozume can keep holding it without burning his hand. He wonders if his hands are cool to the touch.

He wonders how they would feel against his warm ones.

“Half time, but yeah.” And as if pulled by a magnet he leans just a tiny bit closer but doesn’t get anything other than a little hum of affirmation from the long-haired man as he finally takes another bite. 

The thing is, Kuroo wasn’t even supposed to be sitting here, they weren’t even supposed to actually know each other. But somehow, with his idiotic insistency and some amount of sheer luck, with every time he came to deliver food at the most secluded place in Hachioji, he ended up finding a way into this stranger client’s life. 

Kozume-san, who didn’t even smile or said “thank you’ the first time he came around, simply telling him that the food was supposed to be left at the front door as he raises a hand to keep the guy who, Kuroo learns after, was named Yamamoto, to probably kick him out — the fact that he had a gun inside his suit didn’t pass unnoticed.

All of the signs that getting closer is dangerous were there from the start, but then every day, as Kuroo gets ready for bed or simply cruises through the city, or does anything, his thoughts keep wandering back to yellowish eyes. It’s like destiny keeps tugging at his sleeve like there’s a tightrope extended between him and Kozume.

Kuroo really doesn’t wanna turn the other way and try to finish crossing another time again. 

“I can… Come visit at the weekend, if you want to.” His voice is low, maybe a bit shy. Mentally, he’d given a few more wobbly steps.

Kozume just eats, so, _so_ slowly, and Kuroo doesn’t breathe. 

“I might have a bit of time, Saturday afternoon. If you wanna bring your things to study, I have things to read.” And just like that, the blonde punches the oxygen right back to his lungs. His eyes are piercing as if he is considering every variable and possible consequence of his words at the moment, his forehead all lines of worry. “But you can’t be too loud.”

Maybe, Kuroo thinks, Kozume is walking the tightrope too.

“I can be quiet.” He promises, unable to contain the stretch of his lips. “Thank you for letting me come, Kozume-san.”

_“Kenma."_ Five letters, one name. Kuroo’s heart is on his throat. “You can call me Kenma.”

It’s the most beautiful conjunction of words he could’ve said to him.

  
  
  
  


**_FALL_ **

  
  
  


In seiza he stares at the man ahead of him and doesn’t fidget, a single flinch, he knows, would be enough to give him leverage over something Kozume doesn’t wanna lose. It’s a battle of egos over control more than a business meeting, he knows, fairly certain that no decision will come from this encounter.

Still, they stare at each other’s eyes, barely blinking, cups of tea being brought to their lips by hands that are certain but firm. Kozume’s one is small, fingers long, delicate and sure. Daishou Tazumi’s are older, things thicker, even still resonating violence that makes Kenma’s stomach churn.

But he doesn’t budge. He is used to killers, after all. 

“It saddens me to see that your position didn’t change, Kozume-kun.” If anything, the treatment brings him annoyance, but Kozume’s eyes barely flick, his expression still stone cold. 

“It surprises me that you are insisting on a change you knew wouldn’t come, Daishou-san.” He starts, sipping at the tea before gently placing it over the holder again. “This is an old argument that already passed through Yamaguchi-san and the Yamaguchi-gumi and which has been fully endorsed. I would like to ask you one more time, would you please consider bringing this to Nishiguchi-sama and the other respectful board members so we can settle the matter between our organizations the next time?” 

There’s no hostile inflexion in his words, he has learnt with time to be level and as precise as a knife; he has been used for such ability after all. It's the same said ability, of fully being in control of himself, that also allows him to notice the most minimal distaste over Daishou Tazumi’s face, washed away in a matter of seconds and years of practice with a polite and fake smile. 

“Sure.”

The answer is simple and like so is the end of the conversation, but the thickness in the air doesn’t let Kozume be fooled thinking that now it’s gonna be smooth sailing. Daishou and he finish their tea, they shake hands before the older leaves and, as his knees tingle, once he is able to walk again, Kozume thinks about death and how it might come for him soon. 

The thing is, Kozume Kenma was never particularly fond of being alive for starters. The struggle of his mom to make ends meet was always striking while growing up, with no one else to help her and her kid, and Kozume Kenma could never hold it against her but her _ties_ and services to the yakuza are what brought him to this situation in the first place.

A former tea house owner found herself marrying no one other than the widowed kumicho of the Yamaguchi-gumi organization, and Kenma found himself with a step-father and step-brothers that got their hands dirty every day.

So his vision of life isn’t the most optimistic, his interests floating solely to games and the distraction from this world that he so often needs to cope with daily life — although the unexpected friendship with Yamaguchi Tadashi, the heir of the family, was a welcome relief too. Different from the others, he doesn’t consider Kozume a ghost that simply inhabits their lives, truly creating a bond with him.

And it is that bond that made Yamaguchi Hanzo look at him and actually see him as more than the quiet kid of the woman whom he married. He saw his potential, his brilliant mind hidden behind the anxiousness that so often keeps him from enjoying things that others would consider amiable, and he puts it to use.

He is now the fuku-honbucho, Tadashi’s advisor, who had predictably gotten the work of wakagashira, working as his dad’s right hand. 

And at that, Kozume Kenma accepted the job the same way one accepts the news of a terminal illness; one way or another, he couldn’t predict a much favorable ending for anybody in his life. But he could, still, try to do a bit more of the right thing than settle for all of the wrongs.

Which is how he ended up dealing with this problem in the first place. Amongst the many illegal businesses of the family, a couple of them are particularly more striking and difficult to swallow. He couldn’t simply close his eyes to the prostitution, pornography or human traffic.

To Yamaguchi Hanzo’s credit, when Tadashi and he brought this up the first time, a year ago, and their desire to put a stop on those activities, the old man didn’t seem very surprised. With given time, and his striking patience to actually listen to them and their plans and reasons, it was decided that the group would break ties with two of those businesses at least (the pornography and traffic). 

But making a smooth way out without jeopardizing the relationship with the other groups is another matter. 

Although rivals, without Yamaguchi-gumi’s help the Sumiyoshi-kai group — whose president is Daishou Tazumi’s boss — would most likely have difficulty controlling other smaller groups from creating problems and trying to fill the gap left by the first organization. 

That is why the Yamaguchi-gumi clan is _compromising,_ why Kozume Kenma is breaking his head with the negotiations, promising personnel to help with security until the transition of the business is fully secured, besides control of two smaller areas in Tokyo where Sumiyoshi-kai has interests. 

It doesn’t seem quite enough yet, but no sides are gonna budge.

The only other option, however, is making the whole problem disappear, which is why Kozume’s life is currently endangered. That is why he left Hyogo and changed locations to a much smaller place so close to Tokyo, where Tadashi is currently working to keep the other businesses on a tight leash. 

He can’t let him do this work alone, though.

“Kenma-san, you are staring at the door again.” It’s Lev’s voice, the idiotic and gigantic new recruit who is learning from Yamamoto how to keep Kozume safe. 

And Kenma is particularly annoyed by that matter. 

He stares at Lev as someone stares at a difficult problem, and to him it truly is. One misplaced word and all that he doesn’t wanna share with other people would be out in the open due to Lev’s inability to keep quiet. Not that he means it, Kozume knows he doesn’t, but it’s still fully annoying how terribly candid and naive he can be sometimes. 

How lethal it can be in their line of work.

But _still_ _,_ his stomach grumbles, and he wonders if this is a Pavlovian response from his brain or actual hunger. 

“I am hungry.” He decides to say finally and looks at Lev challengingly, to which the silver-haired man merely blinks.

“That’s fine, I can order something for you! Kuroo-san doesn’t work today, though, remember?”

That earns a growl from Kenma, but he should’ve known better in the first place. 

“I didn’t say anything about him. Just go order me food.” And as it’s just him and Lev, he doesn’t hide his annoyance, twisting his lips in a semi-pout that is all petulance.

He just wishes he didn’t have to actually send a message to him, already imagining almond-shaped deep amber eyes, iridescent when the sun hits just right, dotted with his boyish smugness and something so genuine that for a second Kenma feels frustrated to even breath. 

But the mental image also makes the bitterest parts of him dissolve into more affection than he is willing to recognize. 

It’s scary, being alone and slowly learning how to enjoy the significance of a word such as _presence._

He taps a finger against the fusuma, paper-thin and fragile as every detail of the ever-growing knots of the tapestry of his days seems to be. He thinks about his mom, weaving when he was a kid, telling stories about heron maidens and how she learnt how to do it with her mother and wish he could teach him if she wasn’t such a lousy teacher. 

Watching her delicate hands twist and spin the lines, creating patterns and the most intricate drawings, he had thought by the time that there was nothing lousy about her. 

As Kozume sees a shadow behind the fusuma get closer and closer, lines of his hair a mess as feet move lightly but with purpose over the tatami he thinks that he wished he could too weave; his tapestry with Kuroo’s, to maybe merge them together. 

He had, however, no ability. 

When the fusuma opened though, revealing a man he shouldn’t have met with kindness dripping from his every gesture, he considers that maybe he doesn’t need it after all. He blinks then, lips parted with a touch of surprise, and his expression is probably the most honest Kuroo has ever seen, because he beams and Kenma feels sakura’s blossoming in his ribcages like Hachioji in spring even though soon it will be time to take the kotatsu out of the closet. 

“A little lion told me you were lonely,” Kuroo says, kneeling slowly and carefully, as if afraid that any brusque movement would make this unguarded version of Kozume bolt at any second. The joke, however, is in the lilt of his voice, his amusement, and the blonde can’t help but huff, some strands of his well-tied hair freeing themselves and kissing his cheeks. 

He watches as Kuroo’s eyes accompany the motion, licking his lips. 

“Lions shouldn’t talk, you know.” He provides, unhelpfully, suddenly feeling way too constricted inside his three-piece suit. He looks at the door ajar at the other side of the room then, which is allowing the cold fall breeze to enter the room and adds: “And I am not lonely, I am just… Bored.” 

His answer, however, doesn’t seem to put off Kuroo. If anything, the declaration makes him seem giddier, something that Kozume finds troublesome and endearing in equal measure. 

“I actually sent a text to you earlier to say I was gonna pass by, that I was wondering if you’d wanna come walk around the park with me. The colour of the leaves has changed and… I think that the new game you wanted to play is already in the store.” That get’s Kozume to look at him again. 

“Hades? I… Forgot.” The confession leaves Kuroo looking a bit gobsmacked and that enough brings a little smile to Kenma’s face as if the way the medical student was so attentive to his interests hadn’t done so already. “Let me change.”

“Let me know if you need help with that.” At this, Kenma raises an eyebrow, but one look at the other’s expression is enough to make him roll his eyes. 

The idiot was blushing, the words clearly something that he hadn’t meant to say out loud. 

This time, Kenma has mercy on him. Or at least, a little bit of it. 

“Don’t try to chew more than you can bite.” He offers and gets up to go to his room and change. 

He considers it’s the effect of his current attire, but sure enough he soon is back in a sweatshirt and sweatpants to Kuroo’s side, the man easily following him and smiling as he helps Kenma to put on a trench coat. 

Kuroo is just simply embarrassing, and so is the snicker Kozume hears from behind the front door, glaring at Yamamoto and Lev who watched the whole exchange. Granted, the look only worked with the younger and tallest of them, Yamamoto was still smiling and clearly having way too much fun with the whole thing. 

After all, he is the one always saying he and Kuroo are only friends. He is the one saying there’s nothing there, really. 

Still, he is the one who heart skips a beat when he puts on a helmet that Kuroo bought for him and mounts behind him on the motorcycle, circling his arms around the other’s firm middle so they can go downtown. 

He is the one lying to himself. 

When they stop and Kuroo goes with him to the store though, listening to Kenma’s brief but not less animated (to his standards) explanation about the game and then proceeds to buy him a piece of apple pie outside, before they start walking at the park, he feels too tired to pretend, however.

That’s why when he feels long, careful fingers tentatively sliding over the delicate skin of his own, he doesn’t dodge. It’s why he lets the goosebumps caress the derm, an invitation he can’t refuse, until they mould together, intertwined.

The myriad of orange, yellow and brownish of the leaves in the trees seem like a new chapter, slowly revealing itself to him. 

Gripping Kuroo’s hand a little bit tighter, he decides it’s maybe worth reading. 

  
  
  
  


**WINTER**

  
  
  


_It shouldn’t be like that_ _._ The thought washes over him with overwhelming certainty, recoiling against his ribs after years of learning that he had to be the responsible one. And yet, the gentle swipe of fingers against his forehead as they push his fringe back feels cool and relaxing, enough to take him back to when he was no more than seven years old, a little twig of a human being, grumbling for being sick as his mom gently changed the wet cloth over his damp feverish skin. 

Kuroo remembers distinctively how she had looked exasperatedly fond of him, a look he would get used to getting from her throughout the years, until her passing when he was merely sixteen.

He remembers how she gently cradled his face with cold careful hands, kissed at the small tip of his nose and called him silly for not wanting help when sick. He remembers how she had laid with him, hummed the sweetest of songs and played with his hair until he fell asleep once more. 

He remembers, more than anything, how she smiled at him, pride brimming on her eyes when he told her he was gonna be a doctor and take care of her too.

Kuroo never got the chance, but the way she had said “I know you will be brilliant” echoes in his heart even now, at twenty-four years old, and the strength of the memory is such that when he blinks his eyes awake he has warm tears tethering at the corners of his eyes. 

He doesn’t have to wipe them out though, _Kenma does it for him._

Even inside the house, secluded from the outside world and harsh winter under the kotatsu, Kenma’s dainty fingers are cold. He leans against it still, drinking in the unreadable expression in the face of the man who cleans his tears with care and free of any judgements.

“Bad dream?” His voice is but a whisper, encompassed with care, and at it, Kuroo melts.

“Good one, actually.” He leans closer, and not for the first time catches himself trying to understand how this happened, how _they_ happened. 

There was no kiss exchanged, even now. It’s a companionship that he has never experienced before, a flame that burns brighter every day, and he is sure that just as his mother’s memories are precious to him, so will be the ones of Kenma taking care of him now, after falling with a silly little cold.

_“ It’s not silly_ _,_ ” the blonde had said when he showed up the night before, exasperated as he beckoned his favorite delivery boy (a title Kuroo gave himself) inside the house when the taller of the two explained the situation and said he was just dropping Kenma’s order, the last before he could go home. “And like hell you are driving with a fever like that.”

The situation was a result of working over hours and riding that motorcycle whilst winter turned Hachioji into a freezer, no doubt, but the raven couldn’t avoid feeling slightly grateful for it. 

“Hey, Kenma…” He starts, letting their foreheads rest together, the other man’s sharp eyes glued to his, and from this close Kuroo can see the tiniest specks of green hidden on them. “What’s your favorite winter memory?”

“Why do you wanna know?” Kuroo more feels than sees, his little button nose scrunching up. 

“Honestly? I just wanna keep getting to know more, about you.” At it, he feels Kenma’s breath stutter against his face, a chuckle tickling at his throat, but Kuroo doesn’t call him out or provoke.

He waits, patiently, entertained by the way his ankles connect under the blanket and how, even though they probably should go lay on the futon, he doesn’t wanna leave. 

“Botan Nabe.”

At the words, Kuroo blinks, eyebrow raising slightly, eyes almost closing as Kenma starts to play with his hair. 

“When I was a kid my mom used to make Botan Nabe. They do it a lot back in Hyogo during this time of the year, and it was just… Good. The day could have sucked but I always enjoyed it, when we would just sit and she would make it for me. I even ate the vegetables.” At that Kuroo can’t help it, he snickers, however any protests Kenma could have about the matter die on his throat because Kuroo’s arms sneak around him just so.

The raven overflows in affection, and for all his little grumbles, Kenma doesn’t move or push him away.

“I’m sorry, I am sorry for laughing…” Kuroo starts, burying his face at the warmth of Kenma’s chest, nose poking at his sternum. “It’s just, imagining you eating veggies without complaining is funny. I am happy you like the Botan Nabe, Kenma. I am happy that you are happy.”

“You are honestly so annoying.” Kenma mutters, fingers once more sifting through dark strands, not an ounce of rush in the gesture.

“But you like keeping me around.” Kuroo exhales, he relaxes, his fingers intertwining at Kenma’s back. 

Today he doesn’t work, they can stay like this, the whole day. 

“I don’t.” Kenma whispers, but his fingers wrap more tightly around here.

“Do too.” Against the blonde’s shirt, Kuroo smiles and considers one more nap.

“I don’t.” Kenma says again, one of his legs hooking at Kuroo’s hips. 

If Kuroo was worried or sick before, now he doesn’t even remember. Around him it’s all warmth and he gladly settles into it. 

  
  
  
  


A week later, Kuroo learns how to make Botan Nabe.

Granted, he loses a lot of time researching on the internet, watching videos that seem to require way more attention and precision than his advanced neurology classes usually demand. He is by no means a natural in the kitchen, but living alone since he was eighteen, he had to find a way. His dad wasn’t able to be around all the time and with college he simply had to get it together.

So he searches and asks around to know what part of the Boar to buy and asks for Yaku, his roommate, to taste test the broth. Yaku only punches him three times before he finally gets it right.

Still, the import thing is: he tries, and _succeeds_ _._

After their conversation, Kuroo couldn’t shake off completely the thought that Kenma maybe missed home more than he would let pass. He knew that he had lived his whole life in Hyogo before moving to Hachioji and, sparse as they were, their short conversations about the past generally left Kenma a bit more introspective, a bit more clingy, like afraid from things slipping through his fingers. 

In the end, that was the biggest reason behind his sudden desire to become a master chef — not that he planned to lie to Kenma about those anyway. No, Kenma would be able to read him in a millisecond and Kuroo would be left looking like a fool.

Better be a straightforward fool, he thinks.

What happens next, he blames on his overachieving personality and blinded over excitement. 

He wishes he hadn’t. 

The thing is, as soon as the stew was ready, he got on his motorcycle. The path he followed he could do with eyes closed, and the harsher that was the cold air, what Kuroo felt the most was anxiousness, wanting to soon reach his destination. 

The problem is, he forgot to text Kenma and let him know that he was coming.

All it took was for him to pass by the back door to know how grave it was that mistake. 

If there was one thing he could brag about, was that until now he had lived a pretty standard life. The ups and downs he faced were fairly normal, the biggest amount of tragedy to shock his core probably the passing of his mother by an illness no one could control when he was but a teen. 

Maybe that’s why something such as a gun still seems so foreigner, so alien to his reality. Still, he is here, gun pointed at his head as three men he had never seen before seemed to measure him from head to toe. 

“Who the fuck are you?” One of the men grunts, his tone not leaving space for jokes as his finger theatrically caresses the trigger, which only makes it worse, how Kuroo’s tongue suddenly feels so heavy. 

Luckily a well known voice, laced with coldness sharper than stalagmites, does it for him. 

“Nobody.”

It’s only one word, but something inside Kuroo shatters a tad, watching as the hand that he usually holds so dearly settles at the gun’s slide without trembling, the man that once seemed ready to erase Kuroo’s existence from the surface of the earth if he so breathed wrong obeying like a well trained doberman would.

It was as if he had fallen and ended up on the wrong side of the rabbit role.

A side where Kenma didn’t talk much and seemed to feel even less, guiding Kuroo back from where he came with a hand on his back, as he would do with a child. A side where Kenma wore a suit instead of sweats, hair perfectly tied in place, expression empty.

He seemed too perfect, too… Not Kenma.

But still, Kenma he was. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, and this time hope gripped at Kuroo’s hand as he didn’t think twice about getting closer to the other, to finding a sense of normalcy but not too much.

Kenma’s hand pressed firmly against his chest to hold him back, preventing anything more ambitious from happening. 

Inside Kuroo, it was like someone had flipped a switch. If he was in shock before, now he was upset, _afraid_ _,_ especially with the way Kenma looked at him like he was the one out of place. 

“What am I doing here? Gee, Kenma, I don’t know, I was just dropping food, as per usual. Honestly I don't think that’s the oddest thing going on right now, right? What are _you_ doing?” He starts, voice a bit more strained than it usually would be. “I don’t know if you noticed, but there is a guy with a gun inside your house.”

He hoped that Kenma would react to that somehow, but instead all that shows at the other’s expression is… void. 

The blonde just looks to the side, to the greatness that is Mt. Takao. Not for the first time, Kuroo feels struck by the realization that Kozume Kenma is not someone he was supposed to get closer to, but he never felt more distant from him than now. 

“Yes.” Kenma says, finally. “I know.”

“Kenma…” At the constriction on his chest, Kuroo tries again, to find something, anything in at the other’s expression to latch onto, but even as he raises his hand the raven doesn’t dare to touch. “Kenma, that’s… _Dangerous_ _._ ”

But those were the wrong words to say. Kuroo realizes as much as Kenma fixes his eyes on him and he sees them glint at the weak light of the moonshine with something, never having looked sadder. 

“ _So am I, Kuro_.” 

It takes his breath away. Kenma’s words usually have the power to do so but for entirely different reasons. He takes his breath away with endearing candour, bluntness, pouts that would easily rival a child when he is trying to beat a boss at a game, with the way he lets Kuroo see him, really see him.

_With the way he lets Kuroo stay._

“I think you should leave.” 

It hurts more than he ever thought it would. But Kuroo knows a lost battle when he sees one, and the finality in Kenma's eyes doesn’t leave space for him trying to convince him otherwise.

Moreover, he always respected Kenma’s wishes, always walked this path in his pace. He is not about to do anything differently now.

Thickly as it is to swallow he does so and nods, the hand that holds a bag with the hot stew finally moving to give the package to Kenma. He takes it, and even if Kuroo has to look down, Kenma’s presence feels infinitely bigger than him.

Still, he leans down, and seals the moment with a soft press of lips against his cold cheeks before leaving.

Kenma doesn’t follow him or say anything. 

  
  
  
  


Kuroo holds back for four days. Without news or messages from Kenma, he thinks about all the things that encompass the blonde existence and how, even after such a long time, he can’t say that he knows him. He can pretend to himself at night, obviously, he can say that he knows what matters. 

It becomes painfully obvious what a lie it is, though, when he finally goes to Kozume’s house and finds it _empty._

Just like Kenma walked into his life (or how he barged into Kenma’s) he is _gone_ _._

  
  
  
  


**SPRING**

  
  
  


The cold of March extends its fingers to Kenma’s neck every morning as he wakes up. No matter how much he sleeps, he feels constricted. 

The one who enters his room this time is Tadashi. It’s not a surprise as last night deal with the Sumiyoshi-kai was followed by celebrations and there’s a stupid amount of yakuza men still sleeping in the many rooms of the house where the Yamaguchi-Gumi is based nowadays. 

There’s a little sigh that escapes his lips as he eyes Kenma, who is sitting by the sliding door at the opposite side of the room, watching dawn. 

He probably thinks that Kenma is possessed, to be awake at this time, or that he didn’t sleep. 

To be fair, Kenma thinks he is possessed as well. 

“Quit staring.” Kenma says, annoyance painting his tone and inheriting no more than an amused chuckle from Tadashi.

Anyone who looked at the young wakagashira wouldn’t take him for a yakuza, probably. But underneath the freckles and the sweetness of his smile lies a strength that Kenma doubts anyone else would have. He is the most reliable person he knows, observant and careful and strong when decisions need to be made. 

Also annoyingly, he is the person that knows Kenma better than everyone, and is not in the least afraid of him. 

Well, they are brothers, so he supposes it’s how it should be. 

Still, it doesn’t mean that when Yamaguchi sits beside him, he doesn’t scorn. 

“Congratulations on finally sealing the deal with Daishou and Nishiguchi, Kenma-kun. We can finally rest in peace, huh?” If anyone else had said that to him, Kenma would consider them to be fake, but is Tadashi, so he merely purses his lips and squints at him.

“What are you saying? The one who finished everything was your dad, I had nothing to do with it.” 

“Only, we both know that is not true. You really worked hard, Kenma, you did the best for the organization.” And Tadashi’s smile is so genuine that the blonde doesn’t find it in himself to deny it. 

It was, after all, their project. They did work hard. And maybe at the eyes of outsiders it would still not be enough, they are still outlaws after all and it’s not like they had put a stop on pornography and human trafficking across all Japan. But at least now, after years of stain in the story of the organization, they could at least not be tied to it anymore. 

That is what Kenma could do, and he did. 

Still, there’s a bitterness that latches onto his mind and prevents any meaningful sleep. Something that wakes him up in the middle of the night when he thinks of molten caramel eyes and a laugh that is so ugly but so endearing that his heart aches.

He is afraid to forget how it sounds. 

“Kenma… You did enough.” Tadashi says, cutting his thoughts and catching Kenma off guard and this time, when he looks at the freckled man, he doesn’t hide his distress. “I think you should stop pretending and go back to Tokyo.”

Count on Yamaguchi Tadashi to, on occasion, lay it thick. 

“What are you blabbering? You know just as well as I do that it doesn’t solve the real problem.” Kenma starts, a hint of desperation making his voice raise a bit. At that, he swallows immediately. 

“Of course it doesn’t. But it’s a start, and it’s better than you sitting here pretending you are okay when you are actually not.” And this time, when he looks at Yamaguchi’s face, there’s something final and fond in it, something that makes Kenma’s lungs burn because it gives him _hope._ “It’s okay to _want_ something, Kenma.”

Any words he could put out get stuck in his throat. Any reasoning is forgotten and his head hurts, but the only thing Kenma wants is to hear that laughter. The only thing that Kenma also wants is for its owner to be safe. So could he really want it? 

His eyes sting, and he inhales deeply before his brother pets at his head. When he looks at Tadashi, he is smiling. 

“I am firing you.” 

Kenma blinks, mouth agape. “You are what?”

“Firing you.” Tadashi repeats, patiently, voice laced with happiness and gentleness that seems almost out of place when they are at an organization like this. “Well, kind of. I am putting on solemnly to do paperwork. Kei is gonna advise me now. I already talked to dad.” 

A huff of air leaves Kenma’s lips, and there it is again. That treacherous want, that hope, bigger and brighter and oh-so exhausting because now there’s not one single excuse left. 

“I don’t know what to do now.” He confesses and at it, Tadashi laughs. 

Kenma pushes him lightly and scrunches up his nose at it.

“Well! You have the rest of your life to find out!”

Because Yamaguchi is right, he smiles.

  
  
  
  


Cruising through the streets, body in constant motion, he feels swallowed by solitude. There’s no music in his headphones anymore despite still having them at the top of his head, and it’s fine. He drives his motorcycle to the unrelentingly poised rhythm of his heartbeats instead, even though he didn’t sleep particularly well last night, or the one before, or for the last month.

But that too is fine because for Kuroo it’s always all _fine._

It’s fine to work from six to twelve, after all his classes are done because there’s always a buzzing underneath his skin that would keep him up anyway. It’s fine because the money he makes by working during four days a week is definitely one he is gonna need once the workload of medical school gets to be too much. It’s fine because if he wasn’t here he really, truly, doesn’t wanna be thinking.

Thinking means closing his eyes to recreate memories of golden eyes, long eyelashes, a button nose that he wishes he could trace with the tip of his finger in reverence. It means trying to recreate in his head the sound of the softest laughter, the type of sound that caresses your ears and _stays,_ like a raspberry against your belly. It means missing the weight of lythe fingers on his scalp, playing with his hair, sending nightmares away.

It also means eventually opening his eyes and seeing that he is alone, and not that fine. 

Maybe Kuroo hasn’t been fine for a while.

Truth is, even before Kenma, he was unbearably on his own, father living in a city and always working so hard they hardly ever saw each other. They did have a good relationship, but it was still hard and the weight of his solitude is not one that he would lay on his friends. 

If there was a load to carry, he would do it and take it like a man. 

It was easy to do so, however, when he had Kenma to rely on to listen to his loose train of thoughts late at night or at the crack of dawn. So he misses it, he terribly misses him.

With a sigh, the raven resumes to stop thinking about it once more and drive back to the restaurant. His body aches and he truly feels like he was hit by a car, but he gets to his destiny nevertheless. He is about to go inside through the back door, however, when he hears a voice that makes his knees buckle for a second.

“You and backdoors seem to be a match.” His voice is velvet and something thick and warm grips at Kuroo’s throat at the sound of it, something that also makes his eyes sting a bit when he turns around and is faced with the face he was truly afraid to start forgetting.

Now, as Kozume Kenma stands there, in the middle of an alley wearing his sweats and his hair down, being _his Kenma_ _,_ he knows he would never be able to truly do so. 

Kuroo’s mouth opens for a second, but then closes as he swallows all the feelings that were threatening to come out all at once. He opts for the next best thing then.

“Your backdoor will always be my favorite, though.” It’s a stupid joke, one that he knows Kenma laid down on purpose for him, because he knew he would need it. A catalyst for all that was overflowing as Kuroo let his head tip to the side to truly look at him. 

He knew he must look pathetic, so stupidly fond and in love and about to _cry_ _,_ but he can’t help it. 

It’s Kenma there. 

Kenma, who slowly approaches him as if making sure that it’s truly okay, as if Kuroo would have the strength to really keep him at bay even if still a bit hurt with all that happened, his almost magical vanishing act. Kenma, who had a bag at his arm and that pushed it to his wrist, just so he could hold Kuroo’s slightly trembling hands.

Kenma, who gets on his tiptoes next and seals their lips together for the _first time_ _,_ so softly that, wasn’t he with his eyes open, Kuroo would think was his imagination.

Get a taste of heaven and you will want it again and again. 

When Kenma opens his eyes to look at him again Kuroo is there, a soft gasp cutting through his throat as he holds Kenma’s hands tighter, transfixed by the little blush over his cheeks and the fact that he is really here. But even if he has a thousand questions at the tip of his tongue, Kenma beats him to it. 

He looks down and clears his throat, thumb swiping gently at the back of Kuroo’s hand, as if gathering courage and grounding himself with his touch too. 

“I was thinking that you always bring me food… _Maybe it’s time for me to start bringing it sometimes for you_ _._ I don’t know how to cook much, though.” Kuroo’s heart skips a bit at it, and he finally blinks a couple tears away. 

_Oh_ _._ He will stay.

And because life sounds a bit impossible today, Kenma is looking at him like he is afraid of his lack of words and tears. That he cannot have. 

That’s why he kisses him again, then. And again and again, until Kenma’s laughter is vibrating against his own parted lips, Kenma’s rubi red matching his, and until he tastes the lingering mint on Kenma’s tongue coming from a gum he is sure he was chewing at before coming. Until he feels gentle fingers at his scalp again, raising goosebumps that tug at the corners of Kuroo’s mouth.

Until he feels a little bit less alone, and is finally, truly more _okay._

He intends to repeat the gesture everyday.

_"(...) anyone can love for a season,_

_but i wanted the years." — jose chaves_

**Author's Note:**

> well, if you got to the end of this thank you so much and please, come scream kuroken with me on twitter, i am @kenmaniacc on there too!!! 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!


End file.
